The White Death (22 page)

Chapter 42

“Captain, I was wondering if I could—”

“I’m sorry, excuse me,” said Grace, speeding past her chief science officer to catch up with Loretta.

“Captain, can I help you with something?” said Loretta with her usual cold tone.

Grace had to bite her tongue—Loretta wouldn’t even raise her head to greet her, instead more interested in her “official papers,” as usual.

“I’m wondering when a vaccine is coming?”

“Monday.”

“To coincide with sterilization,” said Grace. “Isn’t that very convenient?”

“You are the captain of this vessel, but don’t overstep your mark. You command the ship, but I lead the Council. Keep your views on the current situation to yourself. Understood?”

Loretta began walking again, her notes now top priority once more.

“If the Supreme Court rules in Earth’s favor and sterilization has yet to begin, I will not allow it,” said Grace.

“I have little worry,” said Loretta. “Has the Council convened?”

“Convening now,” said Grace.

“Excellent,” said Loretta. “Have Freda summoned to the Council chamber in thirty minutes. Tell her it is not optional.”

“Yes ma’am,” replied the captain loudly as the elevator stopped and the tall Loretta strode in. Grace wondered, when had she been demoted to a secretary?

Chapter 43

Thomas leaned against his solid oak desk in the Oval Office. His meeting with Congress had gone a lot better than expected. Strong, decisive leadership was something they couldn’t fault him on. There were few alternative actions being proposed across party lines. Most didn’t know what to do.

Thank God for the executive branch
, he thought. Even with that thought, he planned to introduce legislation to curb the power of the White House if they made it through the next few days. Executive power had been growing the past two decades as Congress proved unable to agree on anything. He trusted himself with such power, but future holders of the office could abuse it.

“Ouch!”

He turned to look towards the staff at the far side of the Oval Office.

“Sorry, sir,” said the injured staffer. He nursed a cut thumb.

White House staff continued to assemble a large television, being careful not to knock over any of the precious ornaments he had chosen for decoration.

“Winston Churchill?” asked the injured staffer as Thomas walked up to check him.

“You can’t be serious?” said Thomas, stunned.

The staffer flushed red, embarrassed, before continuing with the wiring.

“A great wartime leader,” said another staffer.

“That he was,” agreed Thomas. He admired the polished bronze bust set atop the marble column. Churchill’s autobiographies were engrossing, and Thomas had learned much from them while running for president. To lead a country under siege was the greatest challenge any leader could face. Thomas knew he wasn’t just leading the United States anymore, though. Every remaining country in the world had now turned to him and his country to lead the fight.

“Just because it looked like he handled things with ease doesn’t mean he did,” said Gail, coming up beside him.

“Huh?” said Thomas, in a world of his own.

“Winston,” said Gail. “He went through exactly the same crisis of conscience.”

“I just … well, I don’t want to lose my humanity,” said Thomas, just as the staff left. “I don’t want to be the president that oversees the destruction of our race.”

“Sir, what is happening now will be debated for centuries.”

“If we survive,” said Thomas.

“We will,” said Gail. “I don’t doubt it for one moment. This, on the other hand, is not productive at all.”

Thomas knew she was right and let out a groan in agreement as the live debate was about to start.

“Sorry I’m late,” said Richards. He arrived with a big mug of tea and a dozen napkins. An aide had already brought a pile of folders over for him.

“You haven’t missed the fun yet,” said Thomas, going back to lean against this desk.

“My jet was due in at seven, but snow held me up. What’re they calling this again?” said Richards. He and Gail settled down on the two plush white sofas.

“Mankind: Sick and Dying,” said Gail. “It’s been scheduled for some time now, but there couldn’t be a worse moment to broadcast it.”

“Forward Together and Future Mankind are taking center stage,” said Thomas. The thick skin he had developed when it came to anything regarding the media felt thinner now. “Friday evening entertainment has been better in the past.”

“I’m sure Bloodworth and Hashcroft jumped at the chance to get on the biggest network in the country, and primetime Friday night 8:00 P.M.,” said Richards. “Sir, everyone in the country will be watching this.”

“Honestly, the mood out there is more worrying to me than this virus,” said Gail.

“I think we’re all being a bit dramatic here,” said Thomas. “This is the United States. We’ll pull together.”

Richards and Gail looked at each other; they didn’t believe that statement anymore. Was it really that bad?

“Sir, the reports I’m getting paint a very different picture,” said Gail. “We’re seeing change at the most basic level in society, where we turn against each other. Here’s a harassment example. There’s been a 500 percent increase in attacks on disabled and intensive care facilities, nursing homes, and, more disturbing, maternity wards since the story broke. Expectant mothers are being attacked on the streets, and gangs are raiding hospitals.”

“When people thought this was just a virus, it was different,” said Richards. “Now they know it’s a virus released by aliens who were trying to cure our toxic gene pool. That changed everything and gave both sides ammunition.”

“Our people are on a collision course,” said Gail.

“With each other,” said Richards.

“And us,” said Gail. “The government.”

“It’s set Future Mankind and Forward Together on a collision course with each other, and that’ll certainly lead to war,” said Richards. “Over two-thirds of the world’s population has been lost to this virus, and people want someone to blame. They’ll look for something closer to home.”

“Anyone considered not healthy, for any reason, is liable to be labeled unsuitable for having children,” said Gail. “And now that means they’re liable to be attacked.”

“Advocating breeding licenses to restore our gene pool looks fine on paper,” said Thomas, “but how you could you ever implement it?”

“Maybe Hashcroft is an alien?” said Richards.

“General,” said Thomas, “behave.”

“What we need to do is regain the initiative,” said Gail. “Those who are obviously not healthy are now primary targets for a lot of frightened Americans. As is anyone who supports the pro-life movement. If all the smaller pro-life and pro-evolutionary movements amalgamate under Bloodworth and Hashcroft, as some suspect, we really will have a fight on our hands.”

“And the best thing is that most of these genetic ‘warriors’ out there don’t realize that, under an alien sterilization program, they wouldn’t be allowed to reproduce, either,” said Richards.

“Sir,” said Gail, nodding to the television. The live debate had been postponed a few moments while the news channel updated America on some recent, horrifying developments across the country.

“Mr. Robert Hashcroft,” said Thomas, looking at the middle-aged, well-groomed man on the right side of the debate panel.

“A disgusting little man,” said Richards.

Thomas stared at him, surprised. Usually the general wasn’t so descriptive.

“I have little time for a man who promotes human experimentation, even on infants, to try and solve our genetic crisis,” said Richards.

“I agree with you,” said Thomas, wholeheartedly. He was definitely in the pro-life corner, though he felt ridiculous saying that out loud now. The number he had condemned to death since becoming president would scar him and the world for centuries.

“You should hear this,” said Gail. It was the latest news flash. “He believes the government should help the aliens round up and sterilize all those not worthy of having children.”

Thomas turned back to stare at Mr. Hashcroft on the television. Whether it was fate herself telling him Hashcroft would be a problem in the future or just a good old hunch, Thomas knew he had met an enemy. A short video was shown, highlighting destruction around the world. Aerial shots of Paris, Rome, and Berlin overrun with mindless hordes of savages were depicted with no detail spared. After that, a specialized building catering to those with severe disabilities was shown, before exploding. All floors vaporized, with the residents and staff killed in the attack.

“Barbarism,” said Richards.

Thomas said nothing.

“We could lose control very quickly,” said Gail.

“That must not happen,” said Thomas. “Whatever we have to do, we three right now need to promise to keep this country together.”

“Everyone has a right to life,” shouted Clarice Bloodworth on the television, drawing their attention.

Thomas thought she looked ready to jump across the table to Hashcroft. Bloodworth was growing more incensed with each passing minute of the debate.

“Looks like the host isn’t in control anymore,” said Richards.

“Definitely not,” said Thomas. He squinted his eyes towards the television.

“That’s kindergarten crap,” retaliated Hashcroft, waving his hand in the air in total disdain. “World economies were crippled before this virus. We can’t look after anyone anymore. Trillions spent each year.”

“That’s certainly new rhetoric for him,” said Thomas.

“He feels braver now, knowing more of the public is behind him,” said Gail.

They went back to watching the debate.

“Second-class citizens?” screamed Bloodworth. “Who are you to make that claim? What have you ever achieved in your life?”

“Does it really benefit the human race genetically, financially, economically, and socially to care for someone who will never work and never contribute to society? What about those prone to cancer and all those other inherited diseases? We spend billions treating them. By allowing anyone and everyone to procreate, we are actually encouraging disease! We are dying, and the only thing you want to do is build more and more hospitals.” Hashcroft knew his argument and had it perfected to a T.

Bloodworth fumed and went on to hurl the names of those who had made significant contributions to human history, even though they were not “perfect.”

“I’m having none of that,” said Hashcroft. “We can’t keep harping to the past—it’s our future that is in doubt. When an alien super-race comes along and tell us we have a problem, we should listen.”

“And what?” said Bloodworth. “Sterilize everyone? Why waste the time? Just exterminate them!”

“I’ll exterminate you in a moment,” threatened Hashcroft.

“People, please.” The host looked horrified, and tried to regain control, but it was pointless.

“What’s wrong with getting rid of the weak and the defective?” Hashcroft continued. “Allow humanity to flourish and be all that it can. Every year, our situation gets worse. More disabled, more stupid, more defective. America is meant to be the leader of the free world—it’s time we started acting like it. Other countries will follow.”

“That’s the other issue,” she replied. “We are the United States. The most powerful, richest country in the world…”

“Here we go…” said Thomas, watching the charade of a debate with discomfort. He knew this statement would be coming and be plastered over every online news forum within minutes.

“Why don’t we use our vast military resources to defend our country from these aliens?”

“The aliens are offering to help,” said Hashcroft.

“Uh, hello? Killer virus? Have you been sleeping this past week? Is our president even doing anything? Or is he preparing to hide in an underground government bunker for a few years while the rest of us fight for our lives?”

“I thought she was on our side,” said Gail.

“They’re both on their own side only,” said Richards. “They know they’re on national television. This is about point scoring.”

One of the production assistants quickly ran on set, handing Hashcroft a note.

“I’ve just received a report that claims President Thomas Morgan’s own mother suffered from Wilson’s disease while his father was crippled with Alzheimer’s, which seems to run in his family. I guess we know what side he’s on. We can’t have a biased president in office.”

“He was elected by people on both sides,” said Bloodworth. “Besides, there is no definitive proof Alzheimer’s is hereditary!”

“There is mounting proof that it’s a combination of genetic and lifestyle factors,” said Hashcroft.

“Is that true?” asked Richards.

“Which part?” said Thomas.

“Your parents.”

“Yes,” said Thomas. “Wilson’s disease is horrible, but it’s not well known. It affects the liver, brain function, eyes, everything. But we coped, just like most families.”

“We could contact the news network, get the broadcast cut,” said Gail.

“No,” replied Thomas. “You don’t become president without developing dragon’s skin.” He looked back to the television, and now Bloodworth was just handed a note from the same guy as before. She began to laugh, sarcastically nodding her head, before looking at Hashcroft like a fox who had just cornered her evening feast.

“Mr. Hashcroft. Is this you?” The studio flashed a large image of Hashcroft as a child, wearing thick, round black glasses.

“I beg your pardon,” he said, his face turning a bright red.

Bloodworth took her purse out and held it up for Hashcroft to see.

“What color is my purse?”

“What?” laughed Hashcroft. Thomas walked closer to the television.

“What color is my purse?” she repeated, warning his advisors not to utter a word.

Hashcroft remained silent, his lips tense and his breathing rapid.

“Are you color blind, Mr. Hashcroft?” She smiled, having scored a deadly blow.

“How dare you discuss personal matters?”

“This is a country in which freedom of speech is practiced and protected,” said Bloodworth. “Now, answer my question. Are you color blind?” She stood up.

“It hasn’t stopped me turning into a productive member of society,” he said finally.

“A productive member of society?” said Bloodworth. “But there are so many jobs you can’t do. Why have you never admitted this before? How many unborn babies would you have terminated who have this disease? Would it be included on your grand list of unacceptable defects?”

“I’m talking about severe illness,” said Hashcroft. “Mental retardation, missing limbs, a higher chance of developing deadly diseases.”

“You’re now cherry picking,” she said. “You can’t have it both ways. Do either of your children have this disability? Should they have been born?”

“Network’s getting cold feet,” said Gail. A notice flew across the screen, saying a break was imminent. Hashcroft was lost for words but looked dangerously toward her.

“I’ll only say this in the company of you two,” said Richards, looking at Gail and Thomas. “Hashcroft made a pretty convincing argument until the end there.”

“Is it wrong I was thinking the same?” asked Thomas. “We aren’t hardwired, as a race, to care for those less fortunate. That’s a societal development. Our conscience may very well be our downfall someday.”

“I’m surprised at you saying that, sir,” said Gail. He knew she was an ardent pro-life supporter.

He brushed her comment off—he didn’t have time to debate policy at the moment, and with the events of the last few days, he wasn’t even sure
what
his positions were anymore. “We can’t have live debates like that happening anymore, not until this is all settled. Those two will end up indirectly costing lives. I’ll get Kim to ring the major news broadcasters.” Thomas was turning into the kind of president he loathed. He had wanted to come to power and bring true transparency to the White House. He saw the American government as huge, cumbersome, and wholly inefficient. Now he was ordering his media advisor to ring news agencies and unofficially warn them of consequences should these types of live debates continue.

“Mr. President,” said an assistant, coming in, “we’ve just been informed that the second batch of sarin will be ready within an hour.”

“And I just got an update from Section 51,” said Richards, reading the email. “Progress is slow, but they have found a carrier.”

Thomas looked at this watch. “Timeframe?”

“Days, maybe weeks.”

“And there’s still no word from the alien Council. Every minute that passes means the window for infection remains open. We need to close it,” said Gail.

“Is there no way we can save them?” asked Thomas.

“According to Section 51, no,” said Richards. “Our own doctors are in agreement.”

“But it’s condemning billions of people to death,” said Gail. “Surely, we could find some kind of way…”

Thomas looked at Richards, who had a serious, war-torn look on his face. He knew it was decision time. The alien Council may very well come through with a vaccine at some point, but they needed to act now. They couldn’t rely on anyone anymore.

“General, inform your bombers to begin extermination of all infected populations.”

“Yes, Mr. President,” he replied, leaving to prepare.